Against her better judgment, Katherine agreed to return to town with Corin. With Abbie’s help, she dressed in something practical but still semi-formal—a compromise between comfort and respectability. Katherine was surprised to find Corin acting every inch the gentleman. He was considerate throughout the evening, even allowing Shade to accompany them. Corin seemed to understand that Shade, after a long day, would rather not be left behind, and he made no fuss about the feline’s presence.

  Over dinner, Corin made it clear he respected Katherine’s boundaries regarding workplace relationships—he wanted privacy for their conversation, not romance. His sincerity put Katherine slightly at ease. Their discussion focused mostly on Lira. Katherine recounted her observations, sharing little quirks and shifts she’d noticed in Corin’s sister. Corin listened intently, grateful for even these small glimpses into Lira’s life.

  As the meal wound down, Corin glanced at Katherine with a spark of anticipation. “There’s a place I’d like to show you before we head back,” he offered, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of excitement. Intrigued, Katherine nodded her agreement. After settling their bill, the two made their way through the bustling streets, Shade trailing comfortably at Katherine’s heels, until they arrived at the local fighting arena.

  Corin had purchased private box seats for them, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. Once inside, Katherine’s demeanor shifted—her posture straightened, her eyes sharpened, and a wolfish grin tugged at her lips. The air was thick with anticipation as combatants squared off below, wielding not only physical prowess but bursts of magic and skill that electrified the crowd. She leaned forward, utterly absorbed, and her competitive spirit blazed through. The ruthless side of Katherine emerged—she cheered with wild abandon, her voice echoing across the box.

  “Come on!” Katherine yelled, her words raw and unfiltered. “Don’t be a coward! Hit him harder!” Her guttural cheer cut through the din, drawing stares from the nearby boxes.

  Shade, startled by the sudden outburst, flinched at first. His ears flattened, and he glanced up at Katherine with wide, uncertain eyes. But as the crowd’s roar swelled again, he seemed to decide it was nothing out of the ordinary. He resumed munching contentedly on the treat she’d given him, occasionally casting wary glances in her direction, but otherwise unfazed by the excitement and chaos swirling around them.

  Corin, meanwhile, watched Katherine with a mix of surprise and growing concern. He hadn’t expected her enthusiasm to be quite so… intense. Glancing at the enchanted glass that shielded their private box, he wondered if it was strong enough to contain her booming voice. As he took in Katherine’s fierce energy, he couldn’t help but think that, if only she were able-bodied, she might have been first in line to join the fighters below. For now, he was simply glad he’d chosen private seats where her reactions could go unchecked and unjudged.

  The current fight was between an agility-based swordswoman and a mage who appeared to favor dexterity and raw strength. The swordswoman darted across the ring, her movements almost inhumanly quick and precise—proof that, in this world, a high enough level could reshape the very limits of the body.

  She lunged, her blade flashing toward her opponent. The mage met her attack head-on, catching the sword in his bare hand with a shocking display of confidence and power. With his free hand, he hammered a brutal punch across her face, the impact echoing through the arena. Blood sprayed from the swordswoman’s mouth as she staggered, forced to release her weapon and reel backward, barely keeping her footing.

  Refusing to back down, she attacked again, aiming a vicious kick meant to buckle the mage's knee. But her opponent was ready—he seized her ankle, spun her overhead, and slammed her face-first onto the ring’s hard floor. The crowd gasped at the sudden reversal.

  “Hell yeah!” Katherine shouted, thrusting both fists into the air, nearly sloshing her drink all over Corin in her excitement.

  Corin glanced at her, amusement and uncertainty mingling on his face. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Katherine turned to him, her eyes sparkling with adrenaline. “This is way better than anything I got to see back home. There, most fights were bare-knuckle, maybe a little kicking if it wasn’t strictly boxing. But here, magic and weapons make every match unpredictable.”

  ...

  Later that evening, after the excitement of the fighting arena had faded, the workers’ dorms at the ducal estate buzzed with low conversation and the quiet of people unwinding from a long day. Back in the familiar warmth of her shared room, Katherine had barely set down her belongings before Abbie swooped in, eyes sparkling with curiosity and a teasing grin already in place.

  Abbie perched on the edge of Katherine’s bed, fingers drumming on her knee. “So? What was it like being out with the young master?” she pressed, not about to let Katherine off easily tonight.

  Katherine crossed her arms and let out a long, exasperated sigh. “For the last time, Abbie—it wasn’t a date.” Though her tone sounded strained, a reluctant amusement flickered beneath it. “Honestly, I think you just want something scandalous to gossip about.”

  Abbie leaned in, undeterred. “Come on, Kat. You put on your nice jacket before heading out—that’s not for a simple errand in town.” Her voice was light, playful accusation coloring her words as she searched Katherine’s face for any sign of admission.

  Katherine rolled her eyes, lips twitching despite herself. “You know what you’re doing,” she muttered, unable to hide a reluctant smile. “Besides, Corin’s a decade younger than me. I’m not interested, and I don’t date coworkers or anyone connected to work. That rule keeps things simple.” She glanced at the ceiling, remembering how Lira had confided that Corin was several years her junior—the duke’s youngest son. “Even if I didn’t work here, Lira’s practically my only friend. I wouldn’t risk that.”

  Abbie clutched her chest in mock offense. “Your only friend?” she gasped, laughter in her voice. “Am I just chopped liver?”

  The tension in Katherine’s features eased, and she shook her head with a small, grateful smile. “You know what I mean. Lira understands what it’s like to feel out of place. But you—” she nudged Abbie playfully with her elbow—“you’re impossible to ignore.”

  Abbie’s grin widened, satisfied to have coaxed a real smile at last. “That’s better. Honestly, Katie, you could stand to relax a bit. Not every night out has to be a grand romance or a disaster.”

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  Katherine snorted softly. “No, it doesn’t.”

  Abbie relented, her tone gentler. “But this is the first time you’ve gone out with anyone—other than Shade, and he was just there to keep you company. You let your guard down, even if only a little. That’s a good thing.”

  Abbie’s words struck a chord in Katherine. A wave of discomfort crept in—Abbie’s insight felt almost too precise, too knowing. Was Abbie some kind of therapist? The thought made Katherine bristle. She hesitated, memories of awkward therapy sessions surfacing unbidden: the sterile offices, the way every question seemed to pry at old wounds she’d rather ignore. She remembered how talking about herself had always felt pointless, how the process left her more frustrated than relieved. Therapy wasn’t for her—she’d learned that the hard way, and she’d never stopped hating it.

  Abbie trailed Katherine down the hall, relentless in her pursuit of details about the evening. As Katherine maneuvered her wheelchair up to the door and slipped her key into the lock, a sharp crash rang out from inside. Instinctively, Abbie darted forward, swinging the door wide—just in time for both women to take in the full extent of the chaos.

  The room, previously neat except for the cozy nook Katherine had arranged for Shade, looked as if a storm had torn through it. Feathers and stuffing from the shredded mattress and blankets littered the floor in snowdrifts. The sturdy wooden beam for Shade’s claws had toppled, and the incubator lay sideways, its glass panes cracked. Two of the mana crystals had rolled clear, leaving the device dark and unheated—a chill hung in the air where warmth should have been. Katherine’s heart plummeted; her sanctuary now felt violated and vulnerable.

  Shade sat amid the destruction, tail flicking and eyes squeezed shut in a sullen, pointed display of defiance. It was the posture not of a toddler, as he often seemed, but of a moody adolescent daring her to react.

  “Shade! What were you thinking?” Katherine’s voice trembled with frustration and disbelief as she wheeled herself into the wreckage. She glared at him, trying to keep her composure, though anger and disappointment warred inside her. “You know better than this!”

  Abbie hovered in the doorway at first, eyes wide at the carnage. “How did nobody hear this?” she muttered under her breath, picking her way across the mess. She crouched beside the fallen incubator, her fingers deftly replacing the mana crystals and casting a worried glance at the cracked glass. “Let’s hope this doesn’t need more than a quick fix.”

  Katherine straightened in her chair, channeling the stern authority of a parent on the brink of doling out consequences. “Shade, come here,” she commanded, tapping her lap expectantly. Shade stayed put, chin lifted in defiance. Katherine’s expression hardened. “Should I bring out the bathwater?” she threatened, her tone echoing the warnings she’d heard from her own parents growing up. Shade hesitated, clearly torn, but held his ground, sulking.

  “All right,” Katherine said, voice deceptively calm. She turned to Abbie. “Could you and your dad start running a bath? Clearly, Shade feels he needs one tonight.”

  The mere mention of a bath was enough to break Shade’s resistance. He bolted to Katherine’s side, ears flat, making a plaintive, apologetic series of feline noises. Katherine exhaled slowly, fixing him with a stern stare but relenting just a little. “That’s better. Now, do you want to explain what possessed you to wreck the room?” Her tone was sharper than usual, but the underlying concern was clear.

  Shade mewled again, tail drooping, a faint note of remorse in his posture. Katherine rolled closer, so she was at his level. “I know you might be feeling territorial, but that egg isn’t even yours. I might not keep it—it might not even be an egg, for all we know. Destroying things doesn’t solve anything, Shade. How would you feel if I tore apart your corner while you were gone?”

  Shade’s answering grumble was soft, almost sheepish. Katherine’s expression softened, but she didn’t waver. “You’re still getting a bath, and you’ll find out your punishment during it.” She stretched out a hand to scratch behind his ears—a small gesture of forgiveness amid the discipline—and glanced at Abbie, grateful for the help but still rattled by the mess that had upended her evening.

  ...

  For Shade, bathtime was nothing short of a catastrophe—a punishment he dreaded more than the pyrelings that sometimes haunted his hunting grounds, whose mere presence banished the comforting darkness he loved. Though he would never willingly approach a pyreling, the thought of a bath seemed almost as unbearable in his mind.

  Anticipating the challenges that would come as Shade grew from a mischievous cub into a stubborn adult, Katherine had prepared herself with a stash of extra treats and toys for emergencies just like this. Now, Shade sulked in the middle of the bathtub, ears pinned flat, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. Three teenagers from the building’s other families surrounded him, each grinning with the glee of co-conspirators as they lathered his sleek fur with mountains of suds. The sweet, almost cloying scent of strawberry shampoo filled the bathroom, clinging to the air and wrinkling noses. Water splashed against the porcelain in chaotic bursts—one of the teens even yelped as Shade swiped a paw in protest, only to have his half-hearted rebellion met with a chorus of gentle laughter and teasing jibes about “the world’s grumpiest panther.”

  Katherine stayed close by, her wheelchair parked just outside the splash zone. She watched the scene with a complicated mix of exasperation, reluctant amusement, and lingering frustration over the destruction in her room. Every so often, she called out a gentle warning when Shade’s patience seemed to wear thin, but the teens managed to keep things light, tossing jokes back and forth: “Pink’s a good look on you, Shade!” one crowed, holding up a clump of neon-tinted foam. “Bet you’ll be the talk of the halls tomorrow.”

  As the shampoo and conditioner worked their magic, Shade’s fur transformed before their eyes—from its usual midnight black to a brilliant, fluorescent pink that seemed to glow beneath the bathroom lights. The effect was as startling as it was hilarious; the contrast was impossible to miss, and even the most sympathetic onlooker would have struggled not to laugh at his thoroughly indignant expression.

  Shade knew—at least on some level—that Katherine considered these baths important. She made it clear that they kept him healthy and showed her pride in caring for him. Still, the indignity of pink fur and soapy bubbles was a humiliation he could barely tolerate, and his dramatic, sulking glares left no doubt about his feelings.

  When the ordeal finally ended, Shade wasted no time. He bounded from the tub in a blur, water droplets flying everywhere, splattering the tiles and the teens’ legs alike. His movements had a desperate lightness, as if he could shake off not just the water but the embarrassment clinging to him.

  Katherine, biting back a grin, held up a small hand mirror from her lap and angled it so Shade could see himself. His eyes went wide with shock, and for a split second, it looked as if he might leap back into the tub in a frantic attempt to scrub the color away. The teens burst out laughing, one of them doubling over and wiping tears from her eyes. “You look like a magical cotton candy beast!” she gasped. Another quickly snapped a picture, promising to show the others in the morning.

  “That’s going to last until your next bath,” Katherine said, her voice only half-serious as she fought to keep her composure. “You need to learn to respect other people’s things. If you pull a stunt like that again, you’ll start losing privileges.” There was a sternness beneath her words, but also a thread of affection and lingering annoyance as she glanced at Shade and then back at the teens.

  Shade chuffed in reluctant acceptance, clearly hoping his fur would return to its normal color as soon as possible. Even as he slunk toward the door, trying to avoid eye contact, the teens teased him with exaggerated bows and “Your Highness, Princess Shade!” in singsong voices. His tail lashed in mortified protest, but their laughter was infectious, and even Katherine couldn’t help but smile at the spectacle.

  “Come on, Shade,” Katherine said, still feeling a little bitter about the chaos awaiting her. She rolled her chair around him, pausing long enough to thank the teenagers with genuine gratitude. “We need to clean up the mess you made.”

  Shade shot her a look she could only interpret as pure disbelief—the kind of wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression that all but screamed, “This bitch.” If only he could speak, Katherine was certain he’d be protesting his fate at the top of his neon-pink lungs.